Minutes waltzing, prancing through the
blessed memories that never came,
moments in this boundless plateau
of misery. When might reprieve find me,
aching for anything but what tosses my soul,
making chaos my only friend?
What then, of that artificial instant,
that sacrificial lamb, the glory
of your voice crackling like the crisp
freshenss of morning sun bursting through me,
calling my name, capturing my fears in
the tiny thimble of your cares?
Oh, that a heart once open and promised would
cower into the fields of seclusion, tattering
the shroud of everything I had dreamed. Would
it be? Could it be that a simple glimpse of
my heart would flail the edges of your passion
such to devour the remnants of us into nothing?
So this moment is mine, etched into the misery
of time set aside, a prancing minute of joy and
glory which now owns an eternity of loneliness.
The rose I found amidst the stones has wilted
and only my hand to blame. And so I’ll swallow
this fate to drown my heart into the foolishness
of loving you. Which I shall always do.